Meaning
by ncfan
Summary: Míriel on the meaning of Serindë.


I own nothing.

* * *

They're mangling her name again.

Míriel is not sure how or when it started. She was first given the name Þerindë in Endóre, while they were still journeying over the mountains and the wide lands to the sea. 'Broideress', they called her, in deference for her great skill with weaving and sewing, for her founding of the skill of needlework and weaving. The Þerindë, they called her, looking upon her incredibly lifelike creations with awe.

She will have to lie to say that she was not proud of the epithet when she first received it. Míriel puts pride in her skills, and is proud to know that others are impressed with her work. She accepted the name Þerindë gladly, and came to think of it as her second name, one she answered to just as readily as Míriel.

Her second name remained Þerindë throughout the journey to the Undying Lands, and remained Þerindë for as long as the Minyar dwelled with the Noldor in Tirion upon Túna. She was content to remain that way, and would be content if she could simply remain that way in the eyes of her people.

However, they just keep _mangling _her name.

Míriel knows that it should not bother her as much as it should. They are calling her Serindë instead of Þerindë, and that is not a great change, is it? More likely than not, someone in the higher levels of society mispronounced her second name at one point in time, or some chronicler misspelled it, and certain segments of society became convinced that the spelling and pronunciation was in fact Serindë. Míriel knows that no one who calls her by that name means her any malice.

Bother her it does, though. The name given to her was _Þerindë_, not Serindë. It is the name that she adopted as her own, signifying 'Broideress', and it has become a part of her just as much as Míriel. The name given to an Elda is supposed to define them. Míriel has seen new parents struggle enough over what to name their children to know that. The name given to an Elda will come to define them, whether they want it to or not.

To change Þerindë to Serindë, it feels as though everyone who calls her that is chipping away at her identity, pulling on loose strings and trying to tug the entire tapestry apart. To Míriel, it feels as though all who call her Serindë have robbed her of a piece of her identity. She is no longer Broideress, or what is the name worth, when so many can not be bothered to pronounce it correctly? What does it mean, when the name that has come to define her is mangled?

So she corrects them when they mispronounce her epithet to her face. Politely enough, for Míriel sees no need to shout and rail over such a thing, but in clipped enough tones that anyone who hears her understands and blushes, abashed.

But there are still many who call her Serindë, and it bothers Míriel in a way that she can not shake, can not erase. _My skills become unremarkable, when others can not even bother to say correctly the name given to me for them. It comes to nothing. Everything I have created becomes worthless, meaningless, mediocre, trivial._

_I will not have that._

"Promise me you won't do like them."

Finwë looks at her, surprised, as though this exchange is unnecessary. And it may seem unnecessary to him, but Míriel must be sure, must have certainty. So she presses on, lifting her chin in the best expression of queenly dignity she can muster when her sleeves are stuck full of needles and her eyes are drooping from lack of sleep. "Promise me, Finwë, that you will pronounce my epithet as it was said _when I received it._"

Anyone would be able to sense her seriousness from the sharp gaze with which she fixes her husband. Finwë is not just anyone, and he has good cause to recognize her expressions. He nods. "Of course I will, Míriel. I can see how it bothers you. Why would I wish to upset you?"

It takes years, many years, but eventually, Míriel has occasion to see Finwë—Indis's husband now, so she can't call him that—forget the promise that he made to her. She has occasion to see him give in to the people's misconception. He calls her Serindë, and so does Indis.

Míriel can not be angry with Indis. She knows that her friend does this only out of deference to Finwë, and to ease her own unsteady transition into Noldorin society. Indis has strength, but not the sort of strength that allows her to stand against a society already hostile towards her, and continue to distinguish herself as strange, knowing that they will continue to distrust her if she does so. Míriel knows her friend, and can not fault her for her choice. If Indis had the liberty to do so, surely she would call her Þerindë.

And Finwë?

Míriel is beyond anger, beyond grief and beyond passion. She has transcended them all into numb exhaustion, and as she will dwell in the Houses of the Dead with her dead kin for all of time, she does not see how she will ever find anger and grief and passion again. In her opinion, the dead have no use for these things. Only the living can truly make use of them.

But she is disappointed; she still has the capacity for that. She watches her Fëanáro grow frustrated and bitter, taking all offense against her as offense against himself. He looks at the works of her hand and struggles to find a connection to her through them. He even learns needlecraft for her sake, and though nothing he creates is ever on the level of Míriel's most intricate works, anyone who sees his work can declare him his mother's son. To him, hearing _Serindë _is hearing someone debase the value of the works of her hands.

Míriel watches this, and is disappointed. She had expected better of Finwë.

* * *

Fëanáro—Fëanor

Endóre—Middle-Earth (Quenya)  
Minyar—the original name of the clan of the Vanyar, still used by many of the Vanyar themselves


End file.
